what if i'm a horrible person?

The sun smiled down upon the earth and shared the warmth of its happiness with me as I basked in the sunlight and the beauty of the day. With a book propped up against the palms of my hands, an old blanket spread out carefully beneath me, and my legs crossed at the ankle and bended at the knee while I lounged on my tummy, I waited anxiously for his arrival. 

He joined me in that blissful moment and kept me laughing, just like he promised he always would. Most of our laughter came at my expense, but I shot several witty comments at him as well. He'd tickle me, and tease me, and at times he'd even gather the blanket up in his arms and throw it over my head before jumping on top of me to hold me down and tickle me while I was utterly helpless. Like a couple of kids, we just played and played and played. And I loved every last second of it. 

The sun felt so warm on my skin and it lit up his eyes. We were side-by-side, laying on our stomachs with our heads resting upon our folded arms and our faces turned towards each other. He had me laughing so hard that my eyes were leaking pure happiness. And with every little salty droplet of water that slipped down my cheek, I'd exclaim, "You're making me cry!" But he'd just look at me and reply, "I don't see any tears." So I'd take his fingers in my hands and press them to the corners of my eyes, "Don't you feel them?" and merely smile fiendishly and say, "Nope." And then I'd just laugh even harder. 

The sun started to fall asleep, and it took the last traces of warmth with it. We ended up in the basement. I was sitting on the couch and he was on the beanbag chair. He lifted his arm over the armrest of the couch and ran his fingers through my hair. Soon, he was sitting beside me, holding me close. My fingers traced his facial features as we talked about the simplicities of life. I kept telling him he was a horrible person, but only because he kept teasing me mercilessly and he kept tickling me to the point at which it could have easily been considered torture. 

But every time I'd say, "You're a horrible person." he'd quickly respond by saying, "You're a wonderful person." And with no words to say, I'd just sit silently and study his face. But one time, one time was different.

"You're a horrible person."

"You're a wonderful person."

"Maybe." 

He raised his eyebrows and I just smiled. "What if I'm actually a horrible person?" He sat for a moment, as if he were taking the time to ponder, before he simply replied, "Hmmm. Well, if that's the case, then what are we going to do about it?" With a sly smile, I moved closer to him so I could look right into his eyes, and I said, "Well, we'll just have to be absolutely miserable then, won't we?" 

And just like that, I felt his lips pressed against my own. 

i have no answers today.

I was sitting on the front porch wrapped in a massive blanket with an umbrella propped against my shoulder and a bottle of bubbles near my feet. And there I sat, happy as can be, when he pulled into the cul-de-sac, parked his car, and began his journey to the steps upon which I was sitting.

We laughed and blew bubbles as the sky leaked raindrops from way up above; we sat there until the stiffness of the cement made our bodies ache, then we allowed ourselves to merely topple backwards and sprawl out awkwardly upon my front porch. We spun the umbrella above our heads and talked about silly things. He would occasionally reach over and tickle me, but I'd squirm away as quickly as possible: I've always been exceptionally ticklish.

Eventually the cold seeped through the blanket and all the way to our bones. So we gathered up our things and proceeded inside and all the way down to the basement to watch a movie. And that's exactly what we did. But he unexpectedly reached his arm around me and pulled my head into his chest. And just like that, I found my heaven in my arms. 

His fingers would comb gently through my hair or trace my ear, and I swore in that moment I could have died happy. How is it that I felt so at home when I was close to him? 

And why is it that I feel so lost now that he's gone?

Once Upon a Time.

I once adored a boy who woke up each morning unsure of how he felt. One day he'd wake up "in love" with me, and the next he'd wake up saying, "I'm just not feeling it today." And so every morning I'd wake up and the first thing I'd wonder would be whether or not I had his heart. It was a complicated relationship, to say the least. 

And I was so wrapped up in the idea of him that I failed to see him for what he really was. 

If I were to say one thing, it would be this: if you adore a boy who has a bipolar tendency similar to this boy, run. He's not worth your time. You deserve a boy who wakes up everyday thinking, "Man. How'd I get so lucky?" He shouldn't question whether or not he cares about you, he should just know. And once he knows, he shouldn't make you question how he feels either.